The Brutality of The Marionette Puppet
by Browlax
Summary: The Puppet tends to act brutally with everyone except for the toy band and children, or at least feels the urge to attack them with such force. From his perspective, he expresses his mysterious thoughts and lusts, pleading to seek the insides of his victims.


**A fairly short story I made. I watched a certain video on YouTube: watch?v=FBh_Z_XOhZo (Freddy Meets The Puppet). I always felt the Puppet's brutality was incredible because of his tiny little body. Lol.**

I, the Puppet, also known as the Marionette, slumber in my present box I call home, my knees bent for a surprise for someone interested in one. It's easy to relax in my home, since my body is as thin as can be, barely worrying about space. My skeletal-like fingers enjoy the feeling of children's flesh gliding along them, and when they reach for the present I tend to hand them for their luck and obedience. What much I can do doesn't compare for a little puppet as I, for I significantly have my kindness to share with the children and their caring parents.

As my time during the night goes, the security guard is told to wind up the music box- MY music box, my glorious melody penetrating through me, the soft keys soothing as always. Without my relaxation, I fear to get angry, but consequently, I sprint for Jeremy, brutally punishing him for his lack of focus for my beautiful music. Oh, the glory, at what I please.

I as well with my little eye spot Freddy strolling by my home, carelessly fooling around and peeking through the lens of the cameras that follow every move everyone takes. To I, that's incredible for some human invention to do such a thing; the human nature is incredible, period. Oh, what wonders I have for it. Despite my misleading subject, Freddy from what I see seems to be very curious for his surroundings. When he spots me, at least my home, he heavily walks to it and dares to peek his good eye through the lid, making me shake and wrap my stick like arms around my body. I can usually see the very blue color of his iris, and when I do, I know for a fact I must quickly react someway. With that being said, I surprise him. It saddens me by his look as his hands grab my well-wrapped present, as if he doesn't like it. This tears my puppet heart apart, since I always work hard to please everyone at most.

With anger flowing inside me, I feel this urge to hurt Freddy. I intend to be a safe and harmless puppet, but with my anger, I feel a powerful force in me, the force I pressure to punish Jeremy. I highly honor the toy band because they are what I call "friends", and that's what they call me. To be frank, I would be so overjoyed to snap the metal rod that is Freddy's frail neck in half (although it is somewhat strong in terms of structure), and by the piercing sound I'd cry for joy. It would be nice to rip open his withered body wide open like a surgeon and tear out his mechanical innards, piece by piece with a smile that widened as each inside clanged to the tiled floor. Perhaps I could use his wires as a chord for choking. I'd rip them out and watch the insides of them give out their last sparks of function. What a tremendous sight to see. Though I'm not familiar with the human body, and though my inferences testified me, it would be like ripping out someone's human organs. Wires are like blood vessels and nerves; without them, there would be no "blood flow", or anyway to move or think. Oh my, these similarities amaze me, for seeing mechanical and human life compare is in depth for interest. I'd toss and juggle Freddy's mechanical organs as it wouldn't be anyone's business for what I'd do. Only my eyes would be allowed to deceive observance and hide the matter. This all would be for my dark entertainment, and only mine, for this is what I would plead at most. It hides behind my little eyes, revealing it whenever I seek interest.

To do such a thing to Freddy would be something so divine and charming, no matter what goes against his pals that were as well withered and advanced in years. Mayhap it'd be splendid to see them torn apart by my tiny being. My pleasure, my my. My tongue thirsts and my instinct craves such brutality that sings through me and begs for occurrence. Therefore I'd allow the powerful snaps, fragile crunches, and slicing tears. My mouth would water. Bonnie, that purple fellow without a face, is the one I think about mostly. Those glowing red pupils that're what remain of his eyes, I specify in. How in the world was he able to see with those two little dots? What would life be like for him without them? Are they what keep him "alive", if that suits my point? I would've loved to touch them and see what happens. I have the tendency to imagine myself without something of mine, for instance my detailed mask (I think that's what it is) on my face. Do I even have a face?! Behind that mask, is there just literally nothing despite my eyes?

I ask myself, why am I so violent? Why am I so brutal? Why do I lust such gruesome imagery? I cherish dark imagery, but always kept that in mind. My mask doesn't show it, but my mind tries to. I don't, since children ranging from five to nine are usually sickened by even the smallest of harm. I beg to differ.

Most definitely.


End file.
